


and oh, my heart was flawed

by jamestkirk



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Crowley-centric (Good Omens), M/M, strictly speaking like you could choose to believe all of this which i think is very valid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 21:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamestkirk/pseuds/jamestkirk
Summary: “It doesn’t make sense, does it? Why create something only to make them suffer? She says they’re Her chosen creations,” Lucifer snorted. Raphael looked up. Lucifer’s golden eyes were fixed beyond the two of them. They’d always had the same eyes and the haunted look in Lucifer’s was mirrored in his own. It was only years later that he’d learn how well Lucifer could lie. “Shouldn’t life be about happiness?”Not then, not yet, but it was the beginning of it.Raphael fell.All he ever did was ask questions.





	and oh, my heart was flawed

**Author's Note:**

> holy fuck guys this fic took me OUT. i feel literallly feral about this entire thing. credits for the various headcanons will be at the end. some things to Note:
> 
>   * title is from [broken crown](https://genius.com/Mumford-and-sons-broken-crown-lyrics) by mumford & sons which is one of my favorite songs for raphael!crowley
>   * the lyrics in the fic are from [the frog prince](https://genius.com/Keane-the-frog-prince-lyrics) by keane. i couldn't decide which song i liked better for raphael!crowley so i just went with both
>   * i know it's different but i've been spiraling about raphael!crowley being lucifer's twin and that's all because of [the fallen angel by alexandre cabanel](https://i.redd.it/1ij0oxs7qnkz.jpg) which looks like every rendition of raphael.
>   * the sex is very minimal it's like literally wrapped up in a sentence. mature rating is mostly for some descriptions of violence/death
>   * if any of you clowns try and read the relationship between crowley and lucifer as anything but brotherly i'll come for your kneecaps
>   * when i finished this i checked the word count and it was at 6665 so naturally i added a word so it could be 6666
>   * edit: [here's](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5RknrUggR5KSFODt4LpD5F?si=eUDeatmnTfCAP9IbD7N6gQ) a playlist several people asked for lmao. listen to it while reading for some real pain.
> 


_All promises broken_  
_Feed your people, or lose your throne_  
_And forfeit your whole kingdom_  
_I'd sooner lose it than still live in it alone_

_You were our golden child_  
_But the gentle and the mild_  
_Inherit the earth, while_

_Your prince's crown_  
_Cracks and falls down_  
_Your castle hollow and cold_  
_You've wandered so far_  
_From the person you are_  
_Let go, brother, let go_  
_'Cause now we all know_

*** 

Of all the stars and galaxies and solar systems the wide universe had to offer, Raphael had loved Alpha Centauri the most. _Create_ , She had told him. _Create, my child, and feel what I feel_. And so, he had created. With his brothers and sister, he had designed everything from the smallest insects to entire planets. The beautiful scales of the snake had been a point of pride, enough so that he’d decided to make them his symbol, smiling to himself as his staff branched and grew until the form of an elegant serpent had wound its way around it. But out of everything, he’d most loved creating Alpha Centauri. 

Closest to the solar system the humans would be inhabiting, he liked to think he’d left his mark on the universe, so near to God’s chosen creations that were still being so carefully built. The truth was more likely that he’d gotten the opportunity when Lucifer had taken Sirius instead. But as he flew some distance away, the blinding iridescence casting the most beautiful light on the curve of his jaw, he could only feel a swell of happiness in his chest. 

But through all of creation, even Alpha Centauri, there’d always been something that _bothered_ him. She had told him, when he blinked his eyes open for the first time and came into being, that he was Her healer. Even his name rang true with it: _it is God who heals_. At first he’d thought it a privilege, God’s chosen healer. Despite what the humans would come to believe, angels were capable of being hurt, even in Heaven. And Raphael was always there to fix it. A torn wing here, a scraped knee there. He’d taken especially to the plants, which were his job too. If they started to wilt or look even slightly unwell, he’d heal them and smile as they bloomed brighter for it. 

As much as he enjoyed what he did, it paled in comparison to his siblings. Lucifer was the Morningstar, bringer of light. Gabriel had destruction and Michael was the angel of Mercy and the leader of God’s armies. A healer of plants and bruises didn’t exactly match up with all that and as time went on, he began to wonder. 

Why _did_ God need a healer? Sure, what he did was useful and he was better at it than the others, but it wasn’t something they couldn’t figure out for themselves. Even if they needed him, it would make more sense for him to be one of the lower angels. Certainly not an Archangel. Instead, he was one of Her beloved. Above all the others, except for Metatron and the Trinity themselves. It didn’t make sense. 

Back then, God talked to them more often than She would in later years, especially to the Archangels. They were all Her children and the humans would decide that She never played favorites, but She had before it all went wrong. 

God’s throne room wasn’t exactly a room so much as it was… _ineffable_. Full of colors human eyes would never see, dimensions impossible to fathom, and impossibly immense. Although most of the angels had taken physical forms, to enter here they had to be shed. So Raphael had stripped to his essence, a sort of green shimmering light that wasn’t like a light at all. Beside Her was another being he recognized as Lucifer’s incorporeal form. One of them was always by Her side and it must be his turn. 

“Mother,” he called, watching as She turned towards him in the manner that She could. 

_Yes, Raphael?_ She had no voice, only the presence of thought that wasn’t your own. A sort of knowing settling upon whoever were to hear it. He came closer, nerves making his light flare the slightest bit greener. He was being ridiculous. She was his _Mother_ , creator of all and the incarnation of love itself. Of course She’d listen to his questions. 

“Er, I wanted to know- that is, I’ve got a question. And I was wondering if you could answer it for me, you know. It’s nothing- _that_ important, really.” 

_Ask._

In this form, he couldn’t nod, but he steeled himself nonetheless. “Why did you- why’d you create me?” he asked, sounding as small as he felt. 

The silence hung between them, stifling in its stillness. Finally, She answered. _You are my Healer, Raphael. I’ve told you this before. Why do you question me?_

Her tone wasn’t angry, wasn’t accusing. Simply curious. It still made Raphael feel like he’d been scolded. Still, he carried on, never having known when exactly to stop. “Well, the thing is, we don’t really need one of those. I mean, sure, sometimes the angels get hurt, I might need to heal a plant or two here and there, but- doesn’t seem that important, does it? But I am. So, why? Something I’m missing here?” 

God looked him over. He got the sense She wasn’t so much seeing him any differently, simply watching him. _Because, my child, the humans will need you. They will suffer and with suffering must come healing._

If Raphael had been in his physical form, his face might’ve gone pale and his breath might’ve caught in his throat. _Suffering._ A word he hadn’t even heard before, but one he knew the meaning of as soon as She’d said it the same way he knew the stars he’d put in the sky. Images of war, death, famine, pollution, _pain_ filled his mind. Children screaming for their mothers, entire civilizations gone because man could be so selfish. All of these things, he knew and had no doubt She had put them in his head to help him understand: he would help stop it, but not all of it. He would heal, but only those who Her Plan deemed worthy of healing. He would help, but not everyone. 

His form flickered, starting back towards the door. He needed to leave. He needed to _think_. “Right. Right. Right- well, that’s me off, I’ve got to- got to get back to my garden, you know, make sure everything’s growing right-” 

As he left the throne room, he could feel Her gaze on his retreating back. As soon as he’d passed the entrance, he collapsed into his physical form, eyes wide and stomach sick. He braced his hand on a pillar stretching out above him, feeling dizzy and out of sorts. 

He heard a _pop_. A warm hand settled on his back, touch light and comforting. “Brother,” Lucifer spoke, voice a melodic symphony. Raphael closed his eyes, flinching away from the touch as the visions of horror continued to flash in his mind. Lucifer’s hand stayed. They’d always been close, though Raphael thought he could be arrogant. 

“Don’t. I’m fine. It’s fine.” The words sounded hollow to his own ears. Lucifer moved closer. 

“It doesn’t make sense, does it? Why create something only to make them suffer? She says they’re Her chosen creations,” Lucifer snorted. Raphael looked up. Lucifer’s golden eyes were fixed beyond the two of them. They’d always had the same eyes and the haunted look in Lucifer’s was mirrored in his own. It was only years later that he’d learn how well Lucifer could lie. “Shouldn’t life be about happiness?” 

Not then, not yet, but it was the beginning of it. 

Raphael fell. 

All he ever did was ask questions. 

*** 

They had been created together. Lucifer and Raphael were something of one being, split into two very different souls. Their physical forms were nearly indistinguishable from one another: brilliant red curls, golden eyes, fair skin, wings of emerald green, and features that might’ve been cut from marble (and one day would be). Raphael liked to wear his hair long, tumbling around his shoulders and looking like fire when the light hit right. Lucifer’s was shorter, kept out of his eyes. It didn’t stop the other angels from confusing them, though they both privately thought they couldn’t be more different. 

_Raphael is too soft_ , Lucifer would think with a scowl etched on his lips. 

_Lucifer can be cruel_ , Raphael would ponder in return, knit between his brows. 

And yet, they were the same. Brothers. The others were, too, of course. Gabriel and Michael were something like their younger siblings. Annoying as they could be, they both wanted to keep them safe (at least, Raphael had thought they both had). But there was something about sharing a face that tended to tie people together. 

When Raphael fell, his form changed. His hair stayed the same, but his beautiful golden eyes turned a sickly yellow with the form of the serpents he’d created. His face changed, no longer the vision of classic beauty he’d always secretly been rather vain about. A snake appeared on the side of his temple, twisting and ugly. And the worst of it: his wings, those shining emeralds, had been burned as he fell, leaving a blistered, bloodied mess on his shoulders that stung with every breath. 

When he’d seen himself for the first time in a pool on the still unformed Earth, he had crumpled to his knees. As he knelt in the dirt, head in his hands, hot tears streamed down his cheeks and his eyes burned like fire. It was the first time any creature had wept. He didn’t weep for his beauty, but rather the reminder of what he once had been. Of the hole in the very core of his being where Her love had been. 

Like the beginning of it all, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Larger now, claws seeming to curl inside his bones. Raphael shuddered, his skin prickling and every instinct within him telling him to run, as if some primal part of his soul knew how very _wrong_ the being behind him was. He didn’t turn to face his brother this time, too terrified of what he might find when he did. This was not the being he knew, not the Morningstar of Heaven. The differences that had always been between them were laid bare, ugly and horrifying in their enormity. 

No one else had fallen, not yet. They would, in moments’ time, but they had been Archangels. Princes. There had to be an example made of them first, the others that had fought with them made to watch what was going to become of them. 

For a moment, it was only two brothers: once golden and shimmering, brought low with the Earth at their feet and fire at their backs. 

*** 

Raphael’s wings grew back. He’d made them black, unable to stand the thought of still bearing his God-given wings. They were like midnight now, like ash and the space between the stars he’d created. Their world began to fill, God finally getting around to creation now that the War was over. On the first day, the light had nearly burned their eyes out and had, for some of them who had been lesser in Heaven. Those that remained felt stronger for it, watching in bitter awe as the world unfolded around them. Out of necessity, they’d gone _below_. This was when Hell was created: on the first day, though the Bible never had anything to say about that. 

Raphael. He couldn’t be using that name anymore, could he? He had no other name, but it felt just as ill-fitting as his old wings. Most of them were nameless, then. The Earth had no form and they all felt much the same. 

His place was by his brother’s side, while they were still figuring things out. On his makeshift throne (so different from Hers; it was enormous and made of twisting metals from the earth beneath their feet and around them), he’d tried to set some sort of order, but hadn’t quite settled on anything yet. He stood by him, watching it all with a frown on his lips. He ached to return to his garden, to his home. But it was gone. God didn’t want him anymore, fine. He didn’t want Her either, Mother or not. His home was here now. 

So when his brother told him to go to the Garden, he went. He chose the form of one of his serpents as his disguise. He knew them well enough, after all. The Garden was gorgeous, though he realized with no small amount of bitterness that it held striking similarities to the one he’d built in Heaven. There were angels at each gate, so he’d climbed his way between the stones and up into a tree. He looked out over the whole thing with his golden eyes and privately thought it good. 

As he watched, She created Man, forming him from the dirt. It was as close to Her as he’d been since he’d asked about his creation and he let out a quiet _hiss_ of contempt, knowing She knew he was there and would surely hear it. She knew everything, so She must know just how much he hated Her. Even in his hatred, though, he had to admit watching Her craft the human was a sight to see. 

The man woke up to God’s shining light above him. _You are free to eat from any tree in the garden,_ She told him, _but you must not eat from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat from it you will certainly die._

And just as quickly, She was gone; leaving Her new creation to his own devices as She’d done with Her other celestial children. He watched as the man, Adam, picked himself up and looked around in a daze. He moved closer for a better view, watching him stumble around on brand new legs. And as he watched, night fell. 

The next day, he watched as God put the man to sleep and created a new being from his rib. He wondered why She hadn’t made her to begin with, but he supposed it must be all part of Her plan. 

Through the next few weeks, he moved about the trees, not wanting to crawl on the ground. And he watched. He watched them bumble about and he loved them. The realization surprised him. He hadn’t thought- well, he’d thought perhaps they wouldn’t be _able_ to love anymore. But love him he did, these stumbling creatures with their innocence and their kindness. He realized he wanted to protect them. No, not the way She had. Her version of protection made his blood boil. They would never know the joys of life, like this. They would never understand what it was to truly live. 

He started to formulate a plan, one involving a forbidden apple and simply talking to Eve, as the woman had been named. Once he’d formed it, he left the Garden to tell his brother. After all, they’d both seen that man was meant to fall. They may as well make it interesting. 

*** 

“Well it must be bad, er…” the angel trailed off, looking at him with a clear question in his eyes: _and your name is?_

He’d watched the angel, too, through the weeks he’d spent observing Adam and Eve. He’d seen him standing by the gate, sitting by the gate, sighing by the gate, tossing a peach up in the air by the gate. It seemed like a dreadfully boring job. But he found himself admiring him. The plump curve of his cheeks, the inquisitive look in his eyes. Yes, he quite liked the angel. His flaming sword meant he was a Principality. He likely never met him, back in Heaven. It wasn’t like Raphael had been conceited and actively avoided interacting with the lower angels, but he simply hadn’t had much chance to. He was to create galaxies and life, while they were to… Well, that was another question he’d never gotten to ask. He wasn’t sure what it was they’d done before the War, or if any of them ever wondered. 

It didn’t surprise him that the other angel didn’t recognize him. After all, his form was different. The only familiar thing about him was his hair. But the _name_ … He knew he couldn’t use his God-given name, not anymore. It made something hot and shameful curl in his gut to think of telling him who he’d been. An Archangel, beloved. And now he’s here. No, he couldn’t tell him that name. 

“...Crawly,” he introduced himself with a lift of his brows, thinking of the way his serpents had crawled on the ground before She had taken away their legs for his sin. Slither was more like it now, but he wouldn’t let himself feel the aching pain at that. His creation, ruined, all because he’d thought Eve deserved a choice. 

As the conversation went on, he felt the hole in his chest start to feel a little less painful. This angel was… different. He’d given the humans his sword so they’d be safe. He _loved_ them, as Ra- Crawly did. It made the heart in this human form burst and ache, his gaze softening as he saw the angel in an entirely new light. 

When it started to rain for the first time, Crawly instinctively stepped closer to the angel and felt a small flutter in his stomach when the angel lifted his wing to shield him from the droplets of water falling from the sky. 

Yes, he decided, he definitely liked Earth. 

*** 

It didn’t take long for Crawly to decide he hated Hell. He was Lucifer’s right hand, trusted in all matters and higher than he had been even in Heaven. Something like the evil Holy Spirit, he thought with a shudder. He couldn’t stand it. He wanted to return to check up on the humans. And the angel, whose name he’d never gotten. Years had passed by then and they must have had their children by now. Who knows what might’ve happened to them since the Garden. 

Lucifer could tell he was unhappy. He saw the way his brother watched him, wary. If they’d been back in Heaven, he might’ve mistaken his trepidation for concern. Instead, he knew it meant he had to be careful. His brother had always had a cruel streak. 

“Crawly,” Lucifer called, his features twisting slightly at the name. He hadn’t seen the point in changing their names. He was still Lucifer Morningstar and he always would be, he’d told Crawly. It was an insult to their Mother, to use his name even now and he’d reveled in that idea. He was simply Satan now, too. 

Crawly looked up from where he’d been picking at his nails, the boredom eating away at his very essence. He was used to Lucifer’s new form by now, ghastly as it was. He could see their old features in his face. Their nose, their eyes, the slope of their jaw. It was just twisted now. Where Crawly’s had been replaced, Lucifer’s had simply been distorted. “Mm?” 

“Go to Earth. See what they’re doing. Perhaps we could influence them, still. I hear they have two sons, Cain and Abel. I wonder what we can do with that.” 

Perhaps Lucifer wasn’t so cruel as he’d thought. Crawly felt relief rush through his veins. “Alright. So, tempt them into, what, a brotherly spat? Gabriel really got on my nerves sometimes, you know, should be easy enough.” 

“Hm. Something like that.” 

*** 

He hadn’t meant for Cain to kill his brother. 

*** 

After that, Crawly avoided the humans. When he closed his eyes, he saw Abel’s blood spilled in the fields. His lifeless eyes staring sightlessly up at the passing clouds. Crawly had seen death. He’d seen the other angels die during the War, though he’d never killed anyone himself. But angelic death was far, far different from human death. They’d fought in their celestial forms, finding that bodies were too messy. Their deaths had been like a lightbulb going out, he’d later think. But Abel… Abel had died screaming, crying. Like the visions She had given Crawly years before, only it was tangible now. 

Although he’d never tell Lucifer, he’d tried to heal him. After Cain had left and God had disappeared, he’d knelt down beside Abel’s body and tried to wake him up. There’d been a moment, where he thought it might work. But then he felt it: his soul leaving. He knew where it would go and who knew what lies Heaven would spin to convince Abel his death had been for the best. 

Hell counted it as a success. Crawly felt sick. Knowing, at least for now, that Lucifer wouldn’t do anything to harm him, he stepped down from his position as right-hand. The honor would go to Beelzebub, one of the more demonic of the demons. He wasn’t sure if it was contempt or pity on Lucifer’s face. 

“You know, brother, you’re going to have to get used to it. You were never meant to be a healer,” he’d told him when Crawly had told him he was stepping down. And for the first time in their shared life, he felt something like disgust curl in his gut for his brother. After everything they’d fought for, he was no better than their Mother. 

Crawly spent the next several centuries asleep. He’d gone up to Earth, confident he’d be left alone for a while after the commotion his resignation had caused. He’d found a cave to sleep in, tucked far away from Adam, Eve, and their children. When he awoke, the entire world had started to fill up. As he’d wandered into the town several miles from where he’d slept, he’d simply gawked at everything in amazement. Humans, would you look at that. 

Children were everywhere, laughing and smiling. It eased the pain he’d felt at the loss of Abel to see so many of them. When one of them tripped and started to cry, it was only instinct that had Crawly rushing to the child’s side. “Here, don’t go crying, now.” He waved his hand over the child’s bloody knee, the small wound disappearing. “There, see? All fine.” He smiled, only to be met with wide eyes. The child scrambled back, whispering to their companions. 

“Do you see his eyes? They’re like a snake-” they hissed in horror, taking one last look at Crawly before darting off, their friends close on their heels. 

He sighed. He’d have to do something about that. 

*** 

The humans taught him Aziraphale’s name. He’d heard whispers of angels, particularly of one that sounded rather familiar. It figured the others wouldn’t bother to come to Earth much. The other Archangels had never much cared for the humans and he wasn’t sure She would let many of the others visit. It would cause a scene, after all. 

When he saw him by the Ark, a smile stretched his lips, walking up to him. His happiness was short lived, however, when he heard just why the Ark was needed in the first place. The same horror that gripped him upon seeing the smile on Lucifer’s face when he told him about Abel overwhelmed him now. God was going to wipe them all out. He felt like he could cry for the second time in his life. Instead, he took a steadying breath. 

“Excuse me, angel, I’ve got somewhere I need to- I’ll be on the big boat, just look for me, yeah?” 

He didn’t care if Lucifer would have his head for this, he couldn’t let this happen. At least not to all of them. He’d make something up. Humanity’s destruction was part of Her Great Plan, so foiling that was surely some very demonic activity. 

So Crawly found himself in the lower deck of the Ark, huddled together with dozens of children and teenagers. He’d asked their parents to come, but they had turned him down the same as they’d turned down Noah. But it wasn’t their _children’s_ fault they wouldn’t listen, he wanted to scream at the sky. It wasn’t their _fault_. They didn’t deserve to be discarded, tossed aside because of their parents’ mistakes. It wasn’t fair. 

When Aziraphale found them, he merely raised his brows and sat next to Crawly. He drew in a breath, opening his mouth to speak. 

“Not a word,” Crawly grumbled. 

“No, of course not,” the angel replied with a shake of his head, something like a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “I’m sure it’s all very evil.” There was a teasing light in his eyes and Crawly felt his chest ache a little. 

“Oh, very. Little Rhul here’s going to grow up and be a tax agent, probably.” 

“A what?” 

“Never mind.” 

A comfortable silence fell between them. Most of the children were asleep, curled up against the hay or on the floorboards. Crawly had snagged some blankets before the flood started, but there hadn’t been enough for himself. Of all things he’d expected from Earth, he hadn’t been prepared for how cold it would feel to him. He wasn’t sure if it was because of his demonic form, or simply because he’d lost any angelic power that kept him from feeling too cold. 

Without really noticing, he’d started to shiver. His arms were wrapped around his knees, a frown tugging at his lips. What he wouldn’t give for a nice hot bowl of soup. Or perhaps a warm woolen coat. 

He felt a warm weight settle around his shoulders, startling as his head jerked up to find Aziraphale wrapping his arm around him and scooting closer across the floor. He glanced at where his hand was gripping his shoulder and felt a warmth bloom in his heart. _Oh_ , he thought. _That’s nice_. 

“What are you doing?” he snapped instead, though he couldn’t bring himself to pull away from the comforting touch. And oh, so warm. Aziraphale was like a raging fire. He wanted closer. 

Aziraphale’s cheeks turned the most wonderful shade of red. “You’re shivering, Crawly,” he answered, chin tilted in defiance as if challenging Crawly to question him any further. 

Crawly’s eyebrows shot up. He _was_ shivering, he realized with some surprise. After a moment’s hesitation, he pressed closer towards Aziraphale’s lovely warmth, tucking himself against his side and sighing as that warmth spread over his limbs like a heavy blanket. His eyes nearly slipped shut. “Fine. But I’m warning you, if you try and smite me, there’ll be some very demonic torture in your future.” 

“Wouldn’t doubt it for a minute.” 

With that settled, Crawly let his head rest on the angel’s shoulder, eyes closing as he began to drift off to the steady patter of rain above them. 

*** 

When some of the children got sick, he didn’t hesitate to heal them. It’s what he’d always been. No matter what his brother might say, he was a healer at heart and neither Heaven nor Hell could take that away, try as they might. Fear twisted in his gut afterward, about what Hell might do, but it didn’t matter. Not when the children stopped coughing and started to play with the animals on their deck. 

If he noticed the look Aziraphale gave him when he did it, one that said something rather important had dawned on him, he didn’t mention it. 

*** 

Through the years, he had to strike a balance between his demonic interventions and his healing miracles. If he did too much of the latter, Lucifer would be forced to do something about it. As it was, his brother turned a blind eye to any whisper of his miracles because he did enough “evil” to make up for it. He was the Serpent of Eden after all, father of original sin. 

Eventually, however, things got a bit sticky. Lucifer had called him into his throne room, still the same after all these years, though it seemed far more oppressive than it had in the beginning. Crowley leaned himself against the door, nodding to Lucifer from across the long room. 

“You wanted to see me, Luci?” 

Lucifer hardly looked impressed. “I’ve let you by with this stupidity long enough, Crawly.” 

“Crowley,” he corrected. “Changed it, actually. Crawly just seems too…” Crowley waved a hand. “You get it.” 

Lucifer continued on as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “I know what you’ve been doing. You’ve been intervening, and not as temptation. You’ve been _healing_.” The word was said in a sneer and Crowley found himself thinking of the conversation that had started it all. The unspoken promise that had been broken far too many times to count now. “Look, _Crowley_. I know the Fall has been harder on you than most, but it’s been millennia. It’s time to grow up and stop this foolishness. You’re not an angel anymore and you never will be. If you don’t stop, I’ll have to step in. And we both know I don’t want to do that. You’re my brother, my other half. I couldn’t stand to hurt you, but if you keep pushing this, you’ll leave me no choice.” 

A part of Crowley’s heart cracked and broke, somewhere. That tends to happen when the last of your family threatens in no uncertain terms to kill you if you didn’t obey. His twin, no less. And in that moment, he felt rather foolish. He was _Satan_ , for somebody’s sake. Not the boy he’d grown up with, in whatever way an angel could grow. 

There wasn’t much of an excuse he could muster at the moment, focused as he was on trying to hide the hurt in his eyes. “Right. Of course. Won’t happen again, Luci. I’ll be a good little demon.” He plastered on a fake grin, his anxiety not dissipating any when he saw his brother’s shoulders loosen. 

As he left the throne room, he could feel Lucifer’s gaze on his retreating back. 

*** 

After that, he was careful. He came up with a plan, albeit a slightly clumsy one. It started with a rumor. _Did you know they’ve replaced Raphael? Name and all. Rude, don’t you think, going around replacing Archangels?_ With a favor from Aziraphale (who may be a touch overdramatic when it came to the acting, especially since Crowley had given him no context and simply told him to go over and heal a blind man), the ruse was easy enough to pull off and sure enough by the turn of the century he’d managed to convince Hell that there was another Raphael running amok as Heaven’s resident healer. After all, maybe it was a title, they wondered. _It is God who heals_ , the name meant, so it’d make sense to give it to the next in line. 

If Lucifer saw through it, he didn’t bring it up with Crowley. Knowing his brother, he’d found the excuse not to damn Crowley’s soul to eternal torture for his good deeds, and he was going to take it. The important thing was that the other demons bought it, dim as they could be. 

Of course, he still kept to his demonic work as well. He wouldn’t be much of a demon if he didn’t enjoy _some_ of it. Nothing like the others enjoyed. He rather preferred tricks and practical jokes to anything else and he was simply infatuated with sins that resembled the original one. Anything involved with giving people a choice, knowledge, and nudging them in the right direction was his domain, as far as he was concerned. 

But if he saw something he couldn’t ignore, he’d step in. And when anyone asked his name, he’d smile and tell them, “Why, Raphael, of course. Angel of Healing, and all that. Pleased to meet you.” The words should’ve burned on his tongue, but they never did. He wondered what that said about Her but decided he didn’t enjoy that line of thought. 

And so it went. Tempting, healing, dining with Aziraphale, dodging the worst parts of history and claiming responsibility for them anyway. All in all, it wasn’t _horrible_. It wasn’t the way he’d imagined his life going, back when he’d pondered such things in Heaven, but it wasn’t as bad as he’d feared it would be after he Fell. In fact, it was rather nice. Especially the angel he spent so much of his time trying to “thwart”. He’d fallen in love in Eden years before and the realization had been a slow dawning since then, though he’d always known it. He thought the same to be true of his angel, though he couldn’t be sure. But who was he to hurry things? They had eternity. 

Then, the Apocalypse didn’t happen. 

*** 

Crowley felt numb. There had been elation, fear, and a soul deep sorrow. Faced with such a mix of emotions, he’d simply shut them down. His brother was gone. His nephew had made him disappear in black smoke and Crowley had stood and watched as he screamed and felt _relieved_. It wasn’t until after that it had settled in. And when it had, he’d thrown up until his throat burned as badly as his eyes. 

When he’d made his way back to Anathema’s living room, Aziraphale was watching him with this soft concern in his eyes. Crowley turned away, unable to face that right now. He wasn’t sure what he was mourning. A brother that hadn’t existed for over 6000 years? The final loss of his family? All the needless death and pain only for everything to end with an 11 year-old boy shouting that he wasn’t his father? He was glad it was over, but that didn’t make it ache any less, especially when the wound of seemingly losing Aziraphale was so fresh. 

It might’ve been their last night, anyway. Once Heaven and Hell got ahold of them, there was no telling what they’d do. Crowley had already lost enough in one day, and he didn’t want to lose Aziraphale permanently this time without having told him how he felt. 

So he invited to Aziraphale to stay with him, an underlying meaning laced with his words and clear in the way he was looking at him. And to his shock, his angel had accepted, hesitancy disappearing once they took their seats on the bus and Aziraphale slipped his hand into Crowley’s, squeezing lightly. 

Over the years, he’d imagined what it might be like to finally _be_ with Aziraphale, in the more Biblical sense. He’d had human lovers and he was sure Aziraphale had too, but he’d never been with another angel when he was in Heaven and he’d never known quite what to expect. Apparently, what he should’ve expected was this: gentle kisses, the soothing rub of Aziraphale’s thumb over his hip when he pressed inside, soft endearments whispered against his skin while he struggled for breath he didn’t need, wings entwined together in a realm much more intimate than the physical, and an overwhelming sense of _love_. 

When it was over (and it could’ve been minutes, hours, or years for all Crowley knew), he curled against Aziraphale’s side as he had millennia ago and let his head rest over his steady beating heart. Gone native, indeed. They didn’t even need the bloody things, but the sound of life reassured him nonetheless. Aziraphale was holding him, tracing little patterns into his shoulder, sap that he was. 

“Go to sleep,” he told the demon as he brought the blankets up around them. “We’ll figure it out in the morning.” 

“Mm,” Crowley hummed, too tired to be skeptical or smart about it. The day had taken more out of him than he’d care to admit and all he wanted to do was close his eyes and sleep the rest of the century away. He couldn’t, though. He still had Hell to deal with and more importantly, Heaven. 

He wondered if this had all been a part of Her plan since the beginning like Aziraphale had said. As he drifted to sleep, he decided it didn’t matter. 

*** 

It’d been four days since the Apocalypse didn’t happen. Crowley was sitting at the table reading the paper while Aziraphale sat across from him sipping at his tea and munching on his breakfast. Crowley had no idea what he was eating and truthfully had little interest. He’d never enjoyed eating. But the ritual of sitting with Aziraphale in the mornings seemed like it could be an addicting one, food or not. 

He was reading about some dog in Birmingham that had apparently saved a little old lady during the Apocawasn’t when Aziraphale set down his mug. “I’m sorry.” 

Crowley looked up, his brows raising. His glasses were folded beside him on the table. One of the first things Aziraphale told him had been that he thought his eyes were lovely and that he should keep them off more often. “You’ll have to be more specific, angel. No idea what you’re talking about.” 

Aziraphale shifted, looking slightly apprehensive, like he was deciding if he should say something or not. Crowley felt a knot start to form in his stomach at that look. Whatever he was going to say, he wasn’t going to like it. “I- I’ve never had a family,” the angel started, only serving to confuse Crowley more. “I mean, well, we’re all God’s children, aren’t we? Humans, too. Animals. But- you know what I mean. I’ve never had anyone like that. Not many friends, either, not up there. Just, er. Just you.” He paused, hands clenching and unclenching before he decided to fold them in his lap. Crowley felt a mounting dread, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “What I mean to say, is- I’m sorry. I can’t imagine losing a brother. Even one I didn’t like.” 

And the other shoe had dropped. “I- brother?” he managed, throat thick and stomach rolling. “I don’t know what you-” 

“Crowley. Please, don’t.” There was this sort of sadness in Aziraphale’s eyes. “I know it’s not something you’ve wanted to talk about, but it needs saying. After this, you can never mention it again and I’ll be perfectly content with that. I don’t care who you were, or what your name was Up There. But I know when you’re hurting and- I’d be a terrible partner if I just let that happen, wouldn’t I?” 

Crowley was looking at the table, hands clenched into fists and jaw ticking slightly as his throat burned. Aziraphale knew. For how long, he had no idea. And it shouldn’t matter, it really, really shouldn’t. They’d known each other for 6000 years without titles or his past muddying up the waters, and they’d gotten along just fine. But the thought that Aziraphale knew what he once was, how brightly he’d shined… it made his breath catch in his throat. 

He was brought out of his thoughts when Aziraphale reached across the table to take his hand, touch as gentle as it had always been. “I just wanted you to know. You can talk to me, Crowley. I don’t- I’ve never thought of you like that. It’s not important. But- oh, you know what I mean.” 

When Crowley looked up to meet his eyes, he found that he did know exactly what he meant. _Oh_ , he realized, _that’s what it feels like_. Unconditional love. Something he’d never felt from his Mother, or Lucifer. He’d felt it for them, but never been on the receiving end. He stared at Aziraphale, feeling impossibly small in the best way. 

Slowly, he turned his hand over to slide their fingers together, squeezing lightly. “Yes, angel, I do.” 

As a slow, cautious smile stretched over Aziraphale’s lips, Crowley knew he was exactly where he belonged. 

**Author's Note:**

> alright now that i've spiraled on all of you, credits.
> 
>   * [the original meta that started all of this](https://the-reading-lemon.tumblr.com/post/185427668198/the-crowley-meta-no-one-asked-for)
>   * [the headcanon that crowley saved the children on the ark](https://rainydaydecaf.tumblr.com/post/185677767164/aziraphale-hanging-out-on-noahs-ark-watching-the)
>   * [tori bc they're the one that said "twins" when i showed them the wip and ruined my fucking night bc we have the same braincell](https://torsamors.tumblr.com)
>   * [not really a credit but go check out my gifset about this on tumblr](https://darthvcder.tumblr.com/post/185716339833/crowley-as-the-fallen-archangel-raphael-insp)
>   * edit: I'm adding [this](https://youtu.be/xWZL_2zlHE8) as a credit bc I feel like my subconscious literally took this scene from iasip and applied it to crowley and lucifer. watch it and you'll know what I mean.
> 

> 
> also the wings thing was bc I watched lucifer and said "oh my god the angst possibilities" and now cannot stop thinking about crowley having scars where his wings burned off when he fell, even though he grew new ones. might fuck around and write a fic about it one day. 
> 
> also like I'm not sure if it's in the book (I'm a little over halfway through) but it seemed vague on if satan died or if he discorporated or what was going on there? anyway for the purposes of the Angst of it all he died in this fic.
> 
> one more thing but wrt to angel hierarchy, neilman said him and terry wrote Archangels as the highest ranking angels and michael as the highest Archangel, not to be confused w little a archangels. so I know in typical hierarchy archangels aren't a big deal but in good omens they're the Bad Bitches. 
> 
> okay that's all. go spiral with me on [tumblr](https://darthvcder.tumblr.com). let me know if there are any mistakes it's 4am and i refuse to proof this right now.


End file.
